


Sleeping with the Fishes

by misura



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-04 09:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "What the - I'm not emotionally invested. Fuck you, man," March said. "All I'm saying is, you get a fish, you got to name it. Something. Anything. How's Anna? Anna's a nice name, right? I think that one kind of looks like an Anna.""That's not your dead wife's name, is it?" Healy asked.





	Sleeping with the Fishes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitnotgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitnotgood/gifts).



> a treat, because yay for shipping disasters? <3

"You're not naming the fish?" March said. "Why aren't you naming the fish? They're fish, man! What, you got something against fish? You think fish don't have rights?"

Healy looked at the two fish. They appeared to be still alive, which was good. He hadn't been sure that stuffing the two of them in the same plastic bag had been the right thing to do, but, well, what did he know? Not like he worked at a pet store.

Half an hour, tops, and he'd have fish again. That was a cheerful thought.

Today's word of the day had been 'serendipity'. Another cheerful thought. 'He accepted the trials of his life with serendipity'. Kind of like equanimity, now that he thought about it, but different.

"You know who else didn't bother coming up with names?" March asked.

_Please don't say Hitler._

"Mothers in Nazi Germany!" March said. "First son, it's an Adolph, right? Doesn't matter whether or not he looks like one - it's Adolph."

Healy sighed. "All right, I'll bite. What's your goal here?"

"My goal?" March looked confused. More confused than usual. Admittedly, sometimes he merely looked clueless - and sometimes he looked like he'd just had an epiphany. (Another word of the day used in daily conversation.) That never ended well.

"Say I name the fish. Will that make you happy? Are you gonna come home tonight thinking today was a good day because you made me name my fish?"

"No," said March. "Yes. Maybe. What's it to you, man?"

"They're my fish," Healy said. "Mine. Not yours. Not ours. So I'm just wondering, you know, why the big drama. Is it going to make you unhappy if I don't name my fish?"

"Yes. Deeply."

 _Ask a stupid question._ "Why? Why get so emotionally invested in this?"

"What the - I'm not emotionally invested. Fuck you, man," March said. "All I'm saying is, you get a fish, you got to name it. Something. Anything. How's Anna? Anna's a nice name, right? I think that one kind of looks like an Anna."

"That's not your dead wife's name, is it?" Healy asked.

"Her name was Ann. She was English. Ann's an English name."

Healy sighed. His own fault, in a way, really. He should simply have told March to get lost, that he had some personal business to attend to. Then March would have shadowed him to the pet store, and from there to his apartment, and then everybody would have been happy.

After an hour or so, he could've phoned Holly to come pick up her dad. No muss, no fuss.

"How do you even know it's a girl fish?"

March shrugged. "How do you know it's not? Who cares? They're fish, man."

"My fish," Healy said. "My apartment. My call."

March put a cigarette in his mouth. It was something he did when he was nervous, or unhappy, or drunk, or insecure, or sober, or something else. "You know what, fine. You don't want to name your fish, don't name your fish. Whatever, man. It's not like I even care."

"Great. That was a fun argument. I can tell you feel very passionately about the issue."

March lit his cigarette and glared at him.

Healy drove. He liked driving. He enjoyed feeling like if he was going to crash, it'd be his own damn fault, his own responsibility. Presumably, that was what people meant when they were talking about life's pleasures. Being responsible for your own fate.

Successfully defending your right _not_ to name a couple of fish.

"You and Holly don't have pets, do you?" For a girl like Holly, Healy thought, fish might be a bit boring. He liked the calm himself, the quiet, but children liked noise. Action.

"We used to have a dog," March said. "Then it died."

"That's a sad story. You think about getting a new one?"

"No. I mean, what's the point, right? You marry someone, she dies. You get a dog, it dies, too. What's the fucking point, man? Why even bother?"

"That's kind of a defeatist attitude, don't you think? Anyway, what about Holly?"

March stared at him. "What _about_ Holly? She's alive. She's not going to die."

"I meant, if you hadn't married Ann, there'd have been no Holly, right? So that's a point right there. Something good. Plus, you got all that time you spent with your wife. And then, at the end, she didn't leave you for another guy - nope. She died. That's another something right there."

March turned his head. "That what happened to your wife? She left you for another guy?"

"My dad," Healy said.

"Your _dad_ left you for another guy? That's fucked up, man. Him leaving your mom - okay, I can see that. It happens, right? What can you do?"

"Actually - "

"But leaving your kid just because you're a - you know. That's not right. I can see how that would screw you up. You were, what, ten, twelve. Man. That's rough."

"Actually," Healy said, "it was my wife. Who left me. For my dad."

"Oh," said March. "That's - that's different."

"A little, yes."

"So your dad wasn't - ?" March asked.

"Not as far as I know, no," Healy said.

"And you're not - ?"

"You know it's not a hereditary thing, right?"

"Are you avoiding the question?"

"No, I'm not avoiding the question," Healy said. "I'm simply pointing out the flaw in your current line of questioning. Some people are one way, some people are another way. You can't look at a kid and say 'oh, he's going to grow up to be this or that'. Besides, what's your angle here?"

"I think you're being defensive," said March. "I think you're avoiding the question. My _angle_? C'mon, man. That's bullshit. Even I can tell that's bullshit."

"It's not bullshit. It's a valid question. You're an investigator, right?"

"The," March said. "I'm _the_ investigator. You're just - you beat people up. Now, I'm not saying that makes you any less of a valued member of the team, but let's face it, when it comes to solving the case, when it comes to asking the right questions, to putting all the pieces of the puzzle together, I'm the one doing all the heavy intellectual lifting."

"Sure you are." To be fair, there were these moments when March surprised you by being sharp and on the ball. When he was actually right.

True, these moments were few, but that was what made them stand out. Healy figured that any investigator who really was as good as March thought he was - well, what use did a guy like that have for a guy like him? Nothing, right? The world's greatest detective didn't need a sidekick, let alone a partner. A buddy. Someone to keep him out of trouble and see to it that he made it home safe every night, and in time for dinner, too.

"You are, aren't you?" March asked. "You're - oh my god. I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot."

Healy opened his mouth and closed it again, deciding kindness was the better part of wisdom.

"You - " March said. "Have you been hitting on me? Is that what's been going on all this time? You come into my house, you steal my apples, you - "

"I broke your arm," said Healy.

"Yes! Exactly! Fuck! Idiot! Me, not you. Well, maybe you, too, but, you know. Different."

Healy considered his possible responses for a moment. "You think that when someone breaks your arm, they're hitting on you?"

"What? No. What - that's sick," March said. "Were you?"

"No."

"See? My point, it is proven. Thank you."

"Welcome," said Healy. 

"So."

"So," said Healy. "We've been sitting in this parked car for a while now, and I've got two fish I need to put in an aquarium before they die."

"I think they're dead already, man. I mean, look at them."

Healy looked. "They're just sleeping."

"Fish sleep?"

"Sure. Why not? All animals sleep. You, me, fish."

"I think they're dead. It's the air, you know. They probably couldn't breathe. Like the birds."

"They're fine," said Healy. "They're fish. Fish aren't birds."

"No shit, Sherlock. I still say they're dead."

Healy sighed. "We'll simply agree to disagree, how's that? Now, knowing what you do, would you like to come up for some coffee? A drink?"

"A drink," March said. "One. One drink. And you're buying, because you're wrong and I'm right."

"Good. Call Holly. Let her know you're going to be a little late."


End file.
